


Break the Heart That Loves You

by cristianoronaldo



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:50:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cristianoronaldo/pseuds/cristianoronaldo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You can’t be with both, Xabi,” Cristiano shouted, and his voice rang around the massive backyard. “That’s not how it works. You don’t get to be with the person you truly love and the person you truly belong with.” He paused, and his expression softened as something inside him was crushed. “You only get one or the other.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break the Heart That Loves You

**Author's Note:**

> there's only a brief sergio cameo, but I tagged him anyway just in case   
> It's currently around 2:30 am. As usual, I'm begging you to go easy on me.   
> and again: @sanikersaves if you ever want to talk fanfics 
> 
> *I refer to Cristiano Jr. as "junior" sometimes just to keep things clear

What the hell’s his problem?” Xabi huffed as Cristiano angrily threw something on his way into the showers, glaring at Morata on the way and probably scarring the kid for life. 

 

Sergio blew out a sigh from next to Xabi. His hair was wet and beads of water ran down his face, but he didn’t brush them away until he spoke, like speaking brought him to reality. “Didn’t you hear what Mourinho said about him?” 

 

“No.” And Xabi didn’t want to hear what Mourinho said about him. Mourinho was good, and now he was gone, and all Xabi cared about was moving on to next season, not what their previous coach was saying to wind up their star. 

 

“He said Cristiano thinks he knows everything,” Sergio said, shaking his head. He threw his towel aside, and Xabi looked away. Sergio continued dressing like everything was completely normal, which _for him_ , it was. He liked wandering around naked. Xabi preferred to be modest. 

 

“And?” As far as Xabi was concerned, Mourinho had a point. 

 

“He said Cris was the only one he had a problem with, ever.” Sergio laughed. “Bullshit. And now Cris is all huffy because...” Sergio shrugged, pulled his shirt over his head, and let out a loud contented sigh. “Well. It was a shitty thing for Mourinho to say.” 

 

Xabi gave him a hard look. 

 

“What? I don’t have to be nice anymore. He’s gone. Let him fuck off to Chelsea for all I care.” His voice was loud, and Xabi winced. 

 

Sergio was reckless with his words; Xabi stayed quiet. When Sergio left for the parking lot, Xabi stayed behind, slow to pack up his belongings so he could offer Cristiano a smile.

 

But Cristiano charged out of the shower already half-dry. He dressed faster than Xabi had ever seen, and when he left, the door slammed behind him and he never even looked Xabi’s way. 

 

+ 

 

Xabi read the article on his phone on the way to the parking lot, and by the end of it, he had a headache because _fuck,_ their team had a lot of drama. There was a guilty thought gnawing at the back of his mind about Mourinho and backstabbing and injustice, and how maybe the three were connected. 

 

He met Cristiano in the parking lot. The other man was struggling with his keys, cursing as he shoved his phone in his pocket. He bent to retrieve the car keys, a waterfall of curses hitting the air. 

 

“Hey,” Xabi said, giving him the smile he’d saved up. 

 

“Hey back,” Cristiano mumbled. He was in one of his “pissed at the world” moods Xabi normally knew better than to disturb. 

 

“You okay?” 

 

Cristiano nodded, and they were quiet, and the wind was picking up, whistling in Xabi’s ears like the words he was urging himself to say. 

 

“Look, about that interview. It was just... you know, the sort of thing he says. That’s just the way he is. He criticizes people, sometimes when they don’t deserve it.” Xabi bit his lip. 

 

“And sometimes when they do?” The corners of his lips flicked upward as he watched Xabi struggle to come up with a polite answer that wasn’t complete and utter bullshit. 

 

Xabi remained quiet, and they were standing in the parking lot, staring expectantly at each other, and it struck Xabi suddenly that he knew very little about his teammate and that Cristiano hardly knew him in return. 

 

“Not me,” Cristiano said suddenly. 

 

“Sorry?” 

 

“Not me,” Cristiano repeated, and Xabi could tell he was suddenly self-conscious of his accent. “Mourinho,” he said, enunciating clearly. “He criticized people. _People,_ but not _me_. Never me. He only did once.” 

 

“Right, right.” Xabi nodded at the memory. “I remember. When he yelled.” 

 

“I killed myself out on the field for him,” Cristiano said earnestly, echoing the words he’d rashly shouted at his coach in the locker room months before. 

 

“I know.” Xabi shifted because he didn’t know what to say, and he really just wanted to get back to his car so he could refocus and possibly nap. “Look, it sucks. He was great at times, but he’s not here anymore.” 

 

Great at times,” Cristiano laughed, and Xabi noted the absence of the smile crinkles near his eyes. The wind blew, and leaves cascaded from the tree behind him, like a small green waterfall. “That sucks,” he said, and his voice was barely audible over the wind. “That’s flashes of brilliance. To be the best, you have to be consistently great.” 

 

“And you are.” 

 

“And I am.” 

 

+ 

 

They went out late for dinner, and it was odd because they never did, and it was over the summer, and it felt even stranger because Xabi should have been playing in the Confederations Cup for Spain, but he was injured. And Cristiano was on vacation, and they were teammates, so it should have been normal, but. It was the two of them, and it was just not. They weren’t friends beyond teammates before, and Xabi was certain things wouldn’t change. 

 

The restaurant was nice, but not flashy. They were in the back, but people still saw, and Xabi liked that about Cristiano, that he didn’t shove himself into the spotlight, but he didn’t let the spotlight’s constant search for him stop him from enjoying what he was given. He didn’t give a shit what other people thought, but then sometimes Xabi thought he did. 

 

They spoke quietly about Xabi’s injury first, and then about the Spanish National Team and Cristiano teased him incessantly about the last time Portugal beat them even though it was a friendly and it wasn’t _that_ recently. 

 

The conversation slowly turned to Madrid in general and Cristiano’s contract, and Xabi found himself unable to control his smile when Cristiano swore he would renew. 

 

+ 

 

They went out more and more often during the summer. Xabi came over to watch Spain’s matches, and he brought his son. Jon and Cris Jr. got along well despite the age difference, and Xabi liked that Jon was beginning to treat Cristiano’s son as his own younger brother, taking him under his wing and showing him how to play with toys, what to put in his mouth and what to never swallow, which pillows were best to build a fort with, etc. 

 

Xabi liked that a lot, and he realized he liked Cristiano a lot too. Because, surprisingly, he was normal. 

 

He baked his son pancakes for dinner when Junior wanted them, bought him whatever he wanted whenever he asked, spoke to him happily, and when Xabi said he seemed like a good father, Cristiano smiled so wide it hurt to look at. 

 

And then later, “You think I’m spoiling him, don’t you?” They were leaning against the marble kitchen island, and Cristiano was smiling. 

 

“No,” Xabi answered, and his smile was tight-lipped. 

 

Cristiano smiled again, and Xabi had the feeling he was forcing it on himself. “I want him to have the things I didn’t have growing up,” he said, and his voice grew softer. “I want him to be happy.” 

 

And Xabi wanted to ask if happiness was one of those things Cristiano didn’t have, but he just rapped on the marble counter and agreed that, _yes_ , we always want something better for our kids, and Cristiano looked at him like he would never understand. 

 

+ 

 

Cristiano didn’t realize how close he and Xabi had become until his son wandered into his bedroom one day, rubbing at his eyes sleepily, saying, “Daddy, where’s Xabi? Is today a Xabi day?” 

 

Cristiano rolled over and gave his son a questioning glance. “What?” 

 

“Isn’t he coming today?” Junior climbed on the bed and whacked at Cristiano’s neck until he answered, confused and more than a little bit apprehensive. 

 

“No,” he said carefully. “No, I’m sorry. He’s not coming again until Wednesday.” 

 

Later, when he was making breakfast and Junior was dancing on the counter, Cristiano realized he was freaked out because his son, the most important thing in the world to him, was growing attached to the man Cristiano was desperately trying to deny his feelings for. 

 

+ 

 

But one day it happened, and there was nothing either of them could do to deny it. Xabi was tired from working with his physical therapist, and Cristiano was tired from traveling home after a World Cup qualifier. 

 

They won, and he’d scored. He was tired and happy and tired, and he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep on his bed, but he’d already promised to meet up with Xabi, and he couldn’t say no to that anyway. 

 

“Nice goal,” Xabi remarked as he walked in. “I mean, it could have been better, but.” He smiled. “Not bad. Not bad at all.” 

 

“If by ‘not bad,’ you mean up for goal of the season, you’d be right.” 

 

They collapsed on the sofa together, and their hands touched. Neither of them moved. “You look like hell,” Xabi said finally, and he still didn’t move his hand. 

 

“I know.” Cristiano leaned back and shut his eyes. His gray shirt clung to his muscles, and it was nothing Xabi hadn’t seen before, but there was something about sitting so close and actually _being_ close for the first time that made it difficult to breathe. 

 

It was silent for a long time, and then Xabi reached over to turn the TV on. It was quiet, and Xabi switched to the recording of Portugal’s most recent game. “You were good,” he said, and there was something like pride in his voice. 

 

“I know,” Cristiano said, and he smirked with his eyes shut. He crossed his arms over his chest and gripped himself in that beautiful frenzy of laughter. Sometimes he laughed when nothing was funny, and Xabi just had to sit back to catch his breath. 

 

The game continued, and Xabi watched while Cristiano slept-- or pretended to sleep, he couldn’t tell. The house was quiet except for the sounds coming from the TV, and as Xabi glanced around, he realized he knew the place almost better than his own. It terrified him how well he knew it, and it terrified him how little he knew his own anymore. 

 

His wife was drifting away from him as she slowly began to realize why he married her, and his son was growing more and more attached to his teammate. Instead of calling out for his mother or his sister, his son was calling out for Cristiano, and it was so wrong. It was all so wrong that Xabi’s hands were balling into fists and he felt like tearing himself apart. 

 

And then, just when Xabi was about to make up an excuse to leave, Cristiano said, “You know, sometimes Junior asks about you. He wants to know if it’s a Xabi day. _A Xabi day_ , he calls it.” Cristiano laughed again, and his arms tightened across his chest like he was trying to hold his laughter in. 

 

There was a long pause, and Xabi swallowed. “Jon asks about you too a lot. It’s starting to irritate my wife actually.” _My wife_ because he couldn’t bring himself to say her name. 

 

There was a soft, breathy laugh from Cristiano. “I like her. Your wife, I mean.” 

 

“Yeah,” Xabi breathed. “I like her too. I think that’s the problem.” 

 

Cristiano’s eyes opened, and he shot Xabi a confused look. 

 

“I like her. I don’t love her. I--” He didn’t know how to say ‘I don’t love women’ without actually coming out and saying ‘ _Surprise_ , I’m gay.’ 

 

“What, you’re interested in someone else?” Cristiano’s eyes narrowed, and Xabi knew he was a loyal man, an honest and hardworking man, a really, really _good_ man. And for the first time in a long time, Xabi didn’t feel the same way about himself. 

 

“Yeah, actually, but I think he’s emotionally unavailable.” 

 

“Why’s that?” Cristiano pointedly ignored the _he_ bit, and Xabi was grateful. 

 

“Well, he--” Xabi’s hands were shaking. “He’s got a son, and relationships in the past haven’t worked out, and I just get the feeling that he’s damaged. Not damaged in an unlovable way, but just--damaged in a shit’s happened sort of way.” 

 

“That doesn’t mean he’s too emotionally unavailable to love you.” He uncrossed his arms, and met Xabi’s gaze with a steady one of his own. 

 

“Cris,” Xabi breathed frustratedly. “I’m talking about you--” 

 

“I know,” Cristiano said, and he laughed under his breath. “Xabi, _I know._ ” And he leaned in to kiss him. 

 

+ 

 

Things seemed simple at first. They met up frequently and to everyone else it seemed normal because they were teammates and friends, but to them it was like paradise on earth. They were hiding in plain sight, and no one in the world would suspect what was actually going on. There was something thrilling about belonging to each other in secret. It didn’t have the same boring ring that an in-the-open, traditional relationship did. 

 

Because sometimes they didn’t belong to each other. Sometimes they belonged to the lies, to the secrecy, to the absolute thrill of looking at one another in public and _knowing_. Sometimes it wasn’t about Xabi and Cristiano at all. They both knew it, and neither of them were okay with it, but they were even less okay with the idea of losing the magnetic, thrilling attraction. 

 

One day Xabi invited Cristiano over, and they lost track of time. Cristiano was just leaving as Xabi’s wife was coming home from her ballet class. They stopped in the entryway, and Xabi thought she looked beautiful with her hair piled on top of her hair in a bun, but when he looked at Cristiano he saw something so far past beautiful that it left him breathless. 

 

She stared at Cristiano, and Cristiano stared curiously back. Neither of them spoke for a second, and Nagore reached to fully shut the door behind her. She dropped her bag on the ground beneath the stairs. 

 

“Nice to see you, Cristiano,” she said finally, and when she looked at Xabi, he knew that she knew absolutely everything. 

 

+ 

 

It was meant to be a quiet dinner. The kids were with Nagore’s parents for the night, and the house was strangely empty. Cristiano had texted earlier, and Xabi was still thinking about him. It felt wrong to think about Cristiano in front of his wife, especially since she knew, but they hadn’t talked about it. He couldn’t bring himself to make them talk about it, and so he continued doing what he knew was wrong. 

 

“How have things been for you?” she asked pleasantly, and Xabi almost dropped his fork for the distance and coldness in her voice. 

 

“Good,” he said finally. His phone vibrated in his pocket. “Really good.” 

 

It was silent again, and the vibrating in his pocket was too loud for her not to hear. “Who’s that?” she asked, and her voice shook. He didn’t answer. “Xabi. Who is that?” 

 

Xabi pulled out his phone with a false, calm smile. He checked the Caller ID. “Cristiano,” he said, and his heart sank. 

 

She laughed a little under her breath, but it was a choked, bitter sort of laughter. “You don’t even have the balls to lie to me about it?” 

 

“What?” He looked up in surprise. 

 

She didn’t answer, and when she finished her meal, she got up to leave with the table still a mess. Xabi found his clothes moved to the guest bedroom. 

 

+ 

 

They fought for the first time when it was dark and difficult to see the stars. They were outside, and it was a week after Nagore dumped his belongings in the guest bedroom. Xabi had told Cristiano right after it happened, and he hadn’t seemed very concerned. 

 

“Do you want it to be over?” was all he had asked, and Xabi didn’t know who he meant. He didn’t ask, and he didn’t answer. 

 

Cristiano was pacing near the pool, and it was better to yell outside because the kids were having a sleepover inside, and Xabi felt like dunking his head in the pool to clear his head of the whole situation. Their children were inside, and he was outside with the man he was cheating on his wife with. It just. Hurt. Everything hurt. 

 

“You never answered my question,” Cristiano said, and he was pleading with Xabi because he couldn’t ignore it any longer. “You never answered my question about wanting it to be over. What’s going to happen, Xabi?” 

 

Xabi felt like everything rested on his shoulders, and he’d felt like that for a really long time, but for once he really didn’t want that familiar weight. He didn’t want the responsibility or the stress. He wanted to fall asleep on the grass in Cristiano’s arms because when everything else went numb, it was Cristiano’s smiling face that brought him back to the world of _feeling_. 

 

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I have no fucking idea, and I’m dying inside every day.” 

 

“God, Xabi.” Cristiano rubbed his eyes with the back of his fists. “If you’re going to stay with your wife, stay with your wife. She’s smart and beautiful and she loves your kids too much to treat you the way you deserve to be treated, and she loves _you_ too much to treat me the way I deserve to be treated for tearing everything apart.” 

 

“I don’t think she loves me anymore,” Xabi said, and his throat hurt in that way that makes people cry until they dry-heave. 

 

“She does,” Cristiano snapped, and he had stopped pacing. He was glaring at Xabi with his arms crossed over his chest, something burning in his eyes that Xabi had never seen before. “She loves you, and she doesn’t deserve what we’ve put her through, but she deserves a father for her kids, and I-- I think you should be that.” 

 

“I am that,” Xabi pleaded. “I’m a father whether I’m with her or with you-- or with both.” 

 

“You can’t be with both, Xabi,” Cristiano shouted, and his voice rang around the massive backyard. “That’s not how it works. You don’t get to be with the person you truly love _and_ the person you truly belong with.” He paused, and his expression softened as something inside him was crushed. “You only get one or the other.” 

 

“That doesn’t really seem fair,” Xabi replied, and he was close to tears in a way he hadn’t been in a long time. 

 

“Yeah, well.” 

 

“I guess it’s just a matter of deciding who I love and who I belong with.” He stared; he wished and he hoped. 

 

“Guess so.” Cristiano’s eyes were dark and burning their way through Xabi. He felt like he couldn’t breathe again. Cristiano had a habit of taking his breath away, but this time it was for all the wrong reasons. 

 

There was a long pause, and the night was quiet, and the stars were impossible to see. “I love you,” Xabi said finally. 

 

Cristiano nodded slowly, and he turned to look away. Xabi couldn’t see him clearly because something was clogging up his vision. Not tears. He wouldn’t cry over something like this. But Cristiano was blurry, and when Xabi brought his hand up to check, his eyes were wet. 

 

“I love you too, you know. Sometimes I thought it was just exciting, but then I realized it was just _you_ , and I think that’s the biggest mistake I’ve made in a long time.” He smiled, and it was the saddest expression Xabi had ever seen him make. 

 

“Well you did crash that Ferrari,” Xabi joked, and his voice cracked. 

 

“Yeah,” Cristiano said softly. “Bye then.” 

 

“Bye back.” 


End file.
